The Art of Waiting
by thosedarndursleys
Summary: Edgar Bones has spent his entire life waiting for this summer; waiting to receive his Hogwarts letter. He just doesn't understand why things can't go as he planned.


**A/N: **This was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 5. I chose to write about option 1: Edgar Bones receiving his Hogwarts letter. I hope y'all enjoy it!

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The Art of Waiting

The mid-July sun was too bright on Edgar Bones' face as he sat in the back garden. Little did the boy know, his mother was inside of the house, surreptitiously glancing out the window every few minutes. She had tried to usher the boy indoors on multiple occasions over the last week, but he would not be moved. Edgar was an eleven-year-old on a mission—this was the summer he would receive his first letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he refused to delay the delivery for even a second by waiting indoors. No, he was not only old enough to go away to school, but also perfectly capable of meeting the owl in the yard, thank you very much.

He reached up to wipe some sweat from his forehead and let out a grumble. He wished the letter would just arrive already. He had turned eleven last April. Surely that was long enough ago to give Hogwarts plenty of notice! Why was it taking so long? Edgar sighed dramatically—in a way that only young boys are capable of—and got to his feet. He had considered getting his broom out to fly, but was worried he would miss the letter if he happened to be flying in the opposite direction of its approach. He could also go inside to get his sketchbook and quill, but what if the owl came while he was searching for his colored ink?

Edgar plopped down beneath the old birch in the garden and began to pick at the blades of grass surrounding it. Maybe he wouldn't be invited to Hogwarts. He hadn't done any accidental magic in over a year. Maybe his magic had gone away. Maybe—

"Ed-gar!" A little voice sung from the back door. A brunette head was peeking out from the opening, and Edgar could hear his mother admonishing the girl to stop letting the cool air out. Amelia approached her brother with a skip in her step, her two front teeth missing in her smile.

"Yes?" Edgar answered with a smirk. His little sister was nine, and was one of the most cheerful, silly people he had ever met. He couldn't imagine her doing something serious to save her life. Last Spring, he, Amelia, and Ian, who had only been six at the time, had gone on a tour of the Ministry of Magic with their father. Amelia had proudly stated that she wanted to be part of the Wizengamot when she was grown up. Without thinking, Edgar had laughed out loud and responded with an "In your dreams," which resulted in a red-faced little sister and a stern look from his father. Edgar hadn't felt guilty, though. It was _true_. Amelia was great, but the nine-year-old didn't have a solemn bone in her body.

The same point proved true as she sat down beside her brother, practically hopping up and down with excitement.

"Let's place Gobstones!"

"Amelia, I don't have time to—"

"You've been sitting out here _all_ morning! Pl-_ea_-se?"

Edgar rolled his eyes. As much as he hated her sing-song voice, it was rather persuasive when she wanted it to be.

"Fine. But you have to bring them out here!" He called after her, as she had already jumped up and bolted for the door in search of her favorite game.

Edgar leaned back against the bark of the tree and studied the leaves above him. He wondered if the owl would land on one of the branches when it came to deliver his letter. Maybe he should get some owl treats from the cupboard inside—that way he'd make a good first impression. Would the headmaster ask the owls how they had been treated by the new students? Could the owls even _answer_ questions like that? He let out another sigh and resituated himself so that he was hunched over the grass again. He was tired of waiting.

Edgar's attention was drawn back to the threshold as Amelia rushed outside with Ian on her heels. Of course the little guy would want to play. He was just beginning to remember the rules to different games and was rather proud of it. Edgar rolled his eyes but was inwardly pleased when his little brother sat extra close to him as they began their game. He would miss the kid when he went off to school. Ian had just moved on to reading chapter books his schooling, and had spent the beginning of the summer begging Edgar to let Ian read to him before bed. While it could be painful to listen to him try to sound out the words, he knew he would miss the stuttered _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ when he was away.

Edgar smiled and ruffled the boy's hair as the first round of Gobstones came to a close.

"You haven't seen any owls come by recently, have you?" Edgar bit his lip and looked toward the sky again, but Ian just gave him sad smile.

"No_p_e," he said, popping the word. "But it's gotta get here soon! You're the best Quidditch player I know!"

Edgar smiled at his brother's reasoning. He didn't understand what those two statements had to do with each other, but he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"Thanks, Bud." He shot a wink at the boy before Amelia piped up.

"It'll get here, Edgar. Let's just go inside. It's _hot_ out here!"

"You lot go ahead; I'm just going to wait here for a bit." Edgar settled back against the tree.

"You've been out here for-_ever_! Pl-_ea_-se come inside?" The little girl's bottom lip poked out and Edgar sighed. There was the sing-song voice.

Seeing the crack in his resolve, Amelia took his hand and began to pull, but made no headway. Ian grabbed his brother's other hand and together, he and the girl pulled a reluctant Edgar to his feet.

"It's going to get here whether you wait outside or not, and I'm tired of playing without you," she whined. "C'mon! We can even play with your Quidditch toys!"

"They're not _toys_, Amelia. They're realistic characterizations of actual Quidditch players," Edgar corrected, remembering the words on their original packaging, but the trio was already heading toward the house. With one last look at the yard, Edgar closed the door behind him and promised himself that his siblings were right. It would come.

Edgar spent the rest of the day in a half-focused daze, sneaking glances out of the windows whenever possible. Half way through lunch, his worries once again crept up on him and remained all throughout the afternoon. When Quiet Time rolled around at three o'clock in the afternoon, the boy was a fit of nerves.

He had tried to relax and read a novel, but he couldn't see the window from his spot on the bed and had trouble sitting still. He watched through the glass for a few minutes, but then resolutely closed the curtains and turned off the lights. Maybe a rest would make the letter come faster. When he was younger, it seemed like all of the good stuff happened when he was sleeping. Maybe the same thing would happen today, even though he was eleven and not a little kid anymore.

That idea proved to be flawed also, however, when Edgar kicked his blankets off after fifteen minutes of tossing and turning. He grumbled under his breath and walked down the hallway to Amelia's room. Maybe she would want to play cards or another one of his mum's Quiet Time-approved games.

The girl looked up at the knock on her door and Edgar saw her toothless smile before he could say a word. He moved to her bed and sat down on the edge, talking in hushed tones about the silliness of Quiet Time and how being "quiet" had never really caused them to get any rest anyway. Amelia giggled and agreed to a game of cards, but her face dropped as her brother went to her shelf to pull out the deck.

"Edgar, wait!" she squeaked as she ran to intercept him. "Maybe we should play something else."

Edgar furrowed his brow and studied his sister. "We've already played _everything_ else," he reasoned as he stepped around her to reach for the cards.

"No, Edgar, stop!"

But it was too late. A stiff envelope addressed in emerald green ink fell from its hiding spot beside the deck of cards. Amelia chewed on her lower lip as her brother silently studied it.

"Where did you get this?" he asked dangerously. It was Edgar's name in the recipient column, not Amelia's, and he was having trouble grasping what had happened.

"Well," Amelia refused to meet his eyes. "You were in the shower the other morning, and I had gone outside to meet the owl that delivers the Daily Prophet." Her voice grew quieter, and now Edgar had to strain his ears to hear her. "The letter arrived while I was out there."

"The Prophet arrives on _Sundays_!" He growled, his anger growing. "It's _Friday_. You've kept this all week?"

"It hasn't been a full week yet—"

"I don't care, Amy! How could you do that? You _know_ I've been waiting for this!"

"Don't call me Amy! My name is _Amelia_!" Edgar had struck a sore spot, and his sister's defensive correction came out in a yell.

The raised octave remained as the new standard when Edgar replied.

"Well I don't see _Amelia_ written anywhere on this envelope, so you shouldn't have had it in the first place!" Edgar waved the parchment around haphazardly before turning away from his sister. "I can't believe you!" He hollered and then effectively ended the argument by slamming her door, walking down the hall to his own room, and then slamming his own.

The yelling match was followed by a stern reprimand from his mother for interrupting Quiet Time and then a sympathetic smile, an embrace, and a promise of "I'll talk to your sister," when he had explained the origin of the argument. When his mother had left the room, Edgar fell back onto his bed and stared at the envelope. He had been waiting for it to arrive for months—years, even, if you counted the time before he turned eleven—but now he couldn't find it in himself to open it. He placed the letter on his bedside table and closed his eyes, trying to abate his anger at his little sister.

_What in Merlin's name is wrong with her?_

Edgar lost himself in thoughts of Amelia's motives and the hours he had spent waiting for the letter to come; all the time spent sitting outside or staring out the window. He just didn't understand. Why would she want his letter?

Edgar's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a tentative, quiet question.

"Edgar?"

He sighed to himself and sat up on the bed, gesturing for Amelia to enter. She stood in his doorway, awkwardly switching her weight from foot to foot. If Edgar hadn't been listening closely, he might have missed her whispered apology.

"I'm sorry, Edgar. I shouldn't have taken your letter."

He wanted to yell; to tell her she was rotten to have done that to him, but her red-rimmed eyes and obvious distress penetrated his anger. Her sing-song voice was gone; replaced by a pitiful whisper.

Edgar immediately felt the heat drain from within him and beckoned her closer.

"C'mere, kid."

Amelia approached slowly and sat on the bed next to him. She relaxed at seeing the anger disappear from her brother's face, but the volume of her voice still refused to rise.

"I-I only took the envelope because I didn't want you to go yet. I was gonna give it to you later."

"Amelia, I'd have to go in September whether you gave me the letter or not. Mum and Dad would have contacted the school to sort it out," Edgar said gently as he searched her face. She really did look broken up about the whole thing. "I can't stay home for another year."

"I would have given it to you before then," Amelia said quickly.

Edgar's forehead creased as he tried to understand the thought process of a nine-year-old girl.

"Then what do you mean by you 'didn't want me to go yet'?"

Edgar's sister looked him in the eye for the first time since entering the room, and Edgar felt a pang in his chest at seeing her eyes grow teary.

"As soon as you got your letter, I knew you'd be so excited about getting ready for school that you wouldn't want to spend time with me anymore. You'd be too busy, just like when you were waiting for the letter and didn't want to play." Amelia's gaze returned to her clasped hands as her voice trailed off.

Edgar felt like he'd taken a bludger in the gut. He reached to the side to pull his sister into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I never meant to make you feel like that." He felt her hiccupping sob against his shirt. "I will _never_ be too busy for you, ok? I'll always be available, even when I'm at school. I'm just an owl away, alright?"

Edgar felt her nod against his chest before pulling back and looking at his face again.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Kid. Are we good?"

He smiled as Amelia nodded. The two turned their attention to the door as a small figure peeked in.

"Are you two done rowing yet? I want to read your letter!" Ian was practically bouncing up and down, completely oblivious to the scene in front of him.

Both older siblings burst into thankful chuckles at Ian's excitement. Edgar beckoned him over with a nod of his head and Ian sat down on his brother's other side.

"So? Can I read it? Pl-_ea _-se?" The little boy had adopted the sing-song from his sister, and was proving himself to be rather good at it.

Edgar smiled, offered an "of course," and passed the envelope to the seven-year-old, who made it through the first line without problems.

"Dear Mister Bones," he read, before stopping to sound the words out. "We are pl-pleas-_pleased_ to inf-_inform_ you that you've been ac-accep-_accepted_…"

Ian continued with the letter, but Edgar had stopped paying attention. He looked at his siblings on both sides of him, and once again felt the premature nostalgia that came with every ending. He was positive that he would love going to school, and couldn't wait to leave, but _here_, sitting with Amelia and Ian, he knew that this was something that Hogwarts could never be. This was home.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a review or send me a PM. I'd really appreciate some feedback :) Thanks again!


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